Away from Monsters 6 (Epilogue)
by SheriAnn
Summary: Resolutions are found.


Disclaimer: This is an amateur work meant in no way to infringe upon the rights of Amblin Entertainment or the Sci-Fi Channel. Lucas Wolenczak, Nathan Bridger, seaQuest, etc., are all the sole property of Amblin Entertainment and its cohorts in Hollywood.

_Author's Note: some elements have been changed from canonical tradition. For example, Lucas Wolenczak graduated from Stanford with an M.S. in Artificial Intelligence, as well as a subject concentration in physics/mathematics. Some dates may appear suspiciously outside canon._

_This is a "pre-seaQuest" story. And the end is finally in sight . . . you've reached the "happy ending"—where the "monsters" get "slain." (Err . . . that is, until they return . . . chuckle>)_

_Please send comments, critiques, polemics, sonnets, et cetera . . .!_

_Copyright 1999 by SheriAnn_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Away from Monsters   
Part Six

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Listening carefully, Bridger entered his room. No, he hadn't been imagining it. The violence of sound, the cacophony of noises never meant to exist mingled together, bewildered him.

What living creature could make such a hideous, God-awful, wailing racket?

And then it struck him: Lucas. Lucas had asked to bring over a few music discs . . . and he, like an idiot, had said yes. Yes! He groaned. He should've learned this lesson with Robert; it only proved that his head was thicker than the ponderous stones forming the pyramids of Giza. He sighed, shaking his head. _Teenagers. They never change . . ._

And then, miraculously, as if in direct response to his thoughts, the clamor ended with a dying, caterwauling screech. He looked over by his computer, finding Lucas's eyes on him. Lucas smiled sheepishly, slightly flushed in the cheeks. The teenager cleared his throat. "Sorry, sir. I didn't hear you come in."

Bridger had to work hard to hide the small smile tugging at his lips. There might be some hope here, after all; Robert would've turned the stereo _up,_ not _down,_ if he saw dad traipse in during a "composition" like Lucas's. Playing the part of the grump, though, he snorted even as he smiled inwardly. "Didn't hear me? No wonder! I'm amazed you can hear anything after that . . . that _noise_." He sighed. "Kids! When they have brains, they lack all musical taste!"

Impudently, Lucas grinned at him. He had a sudden itch, a sudden wicked inspiration, to blast his captain's eardrums right out of his ears. If he were to be accused of tastelessness in music . . . perhaps he should earn the distinction? With a perverse chuckle, Lucas leaned towards the computer and flipped on the amplifiers and the speakers and the holographic array . . . and then, a thoroughly fiendish smile slinking across his face, he pushed **_the button_**: 'Y' for yes.

Sound abruptly blasted through the captain's quarters, rattling his nautical keepsakes as they tottered on the walls. A holographic image snapped into focus: "Zeus and the Devil's Dogs" playing the best clanging, screeching ruckus yet made by their screaming, scandalous band. Lucas watched as Bridger's hands pressed to his ears, then couldn't help but laugh as his captain—the distinguished, intellectual Nathan Bridger—all but kicked his rogue computer into silence. At last, Lucas turned off the remaining amplifiers (those that had survived Bridger's wrath) and grinned. "Pretty cool, ha? I thought you'd like them. They have such . . ."

"Such loud, screeching voices, you mean?" Bridger snapped, wondering what had sparked this little show of cruelty to his ears. And wondering what on earth he was going to do about Lucas's music. He'd heard someone say—he couldn't remember exactly who, though instinct told him to blame this little saying on Krieg—that you're too old when the music sounds like cats screeching. Hmmm. He was probably getting too old, then. At the very least, he was getting too old for *this. He felt all of ninety right now.

Come to think of it, Lucas _did_ share something in common with Robert: they both had a mischievous streak in them that would put the devil to shame. Robert had been fonder of pranks than Lucas, but . . . Nathan figured that might change with time. And with constant, prolonged exposure to one Lieutenant Ben Krieg, the metamorphosis was almost assured. He groaned. What, _what_ had he done to himself when he ignorantly, unwittingly invited Lucas—a _teenager_, for heaven's sake—into his nice, quiet quarters?

But he knew why, and he also knew his reasoning had been correct: not only correct, but _right_. He'd done the right thing. Unfortunately, doing the right thing wasn't always pleasant. In fact, it was often like the proverbial trip through Hell: one encountered many nightmares best left undescribed, but one eventually lived to escape Hell.

As his imagination spiraled out of control, a horde of "nightmares" instantly suggested themselves to his mind. He could just see it now. Stuff all over his quarters. His own stuff, piled into the corner. Lucas playing with the Hyper-Reality Gloves, wires dangling across Bridger's once-clean table. Fights over what time of the night was deemed a respectable "bed time." Just great. He sighed: Hell, indeed.

He just hoped he lived long enough to escape the Hell of a teenager in residence. Or that he didn't go completely insane first.

"How can you listen to that stuff? I mean, I can't even understand what they're saying! Or _are_ they saying anything at all? Are they just screeching?"

Flashing Nathan a smile that was almost challenging, Lucas shrugged his shoulders, dropping heavily into Nathan's favorite chair. He put his feet on the clean, nicely polished table: one heavy, slow foot at a time. "Captain, you must've liked loud music when you were my age. Don't I get to, too?" Of course, Lucas managed to make it sound like it had been ages ago, _lifetimes_ ago, when Bridger listened to loud music.

Nathan could only stare at the feet on his table and the boy in his treasured chair. He frowned. Obviously, something had to be done before all control went slipping out the door. Hmmm . . .

Before Lucas could do or say anything further, Nathan circled one arm around the young man's shoulders and one under his knees . . . and simply picked him up and moved him, gently but firmly setting him down on the chair next to his own with his feet well planted on the floor. As expected, Lucas's eyes were wide, surprised, perhaps even shocked; but Nathan was glad to see that no fear or terror lingered in those eyes. Sitting down in his own chair and propping his own feet on his own table, and watching as an amazed Lucas watched him do so, Nathan grinned as smugly as he knew how. Raising his eyebrows almost impishly, Nathan leaned towards his new roommate . . . and lightly tapped his nose. He grinned, knowing full well that the "tables" had just turned in his favor.

"Well, Lucas," he began with a slight laugh, "Thanks for getting up to give me my favorite chair. That was nice of you."

Lucas glared at him, actually pouting as he examined his wrists critically. He then looked back up, giving Bridger a look worthy of the devil. "What am I, sir . . . luggage to be moved around at will? Useless baggage?"

For a second, Nathan pondered this question, and what his answer should be. Then he sighed, deciding to confront the issue without hesitation. "No, of course not. You're my new roomie. But a roomie doesn't sit where he knows he's not supposed to sit, a roomie doesn't put his feet on another person's table without asking permission, and a roomie doesn't blast his roommate's stereo until his roomie threatens to destroy all of his music! Understood?"

Lucas looked at him, then eyed the captain's feet. "Your feet are on the table."

"Yeah, but I'm only doing that to annoy you," Nathan replied quickly. He wiggled his toes, moving his feet around in plain view of Lucas's gaze. "And it's my table, too; I want to put my feet on it, I can. But you should ask first."

Rolling his eyes, Lucas groaned in annoyance. He crossed his arms against his chest and sulked. "No, thank you, anyway. I'll pass." He paused, scowling across at Nathan. "Can I go to my quarters now? I can clearly see that living with you is going to be impossible . . ."

"Ha! Living with _me_ is going to be impossible," Nathan retorted, rolling his own eyes at the teen. "And no, you may not go back to your quarters. You're stuck here, like it or not . . . "

"But you don't want me here. That much is obvious." He kicked the bottom of Bridger's table, then said, "And no, you don't need to boot me out of here, sir. I can take a hint."

Nathan snorted once more, tapping Lucas's forehead. "You can take a hint, eh? Humph. More like you're overly sensitive to what anyone says or does, especially me." He watched as Lucas's eyes stared up at him, then winced as he saw something he hadn't meant to produce: fear. _Not bright, old boy,_ he told himself. _Accusing him of sensitivity isn't the thing to do._

Nathan sighed, collecting his wits and trying to keep his sudden irritation to a minimum. Living together was going to be harder than he'd expected. "Lucas, I'm sorry. But the truth is that I asked you here because I wanted you to stay . . . and I do still want that. However, we need to set some ground rules if we're to keep from driving each other crazy. You wouldn't honestly walk into someone else's home and stick your feet on the table, would you?"

Still sulking like a boy half his age, Lucas made a face at Nathan. Stubbornly, he refused to say anything.

"Lucas Wolenczak, you're acting like a child . . ."

"For heaven's sake, as you're _always_ reminding me, I am one . . . or at least a teenager," Lucas snapped, pulling at the loose end of one of his bandages. He watched the end unravel as his fingers tore at each individual strand . . . until Bridger suddenly placed his hand over Lucas's bandages and neatly tucked the frayed end back where it belonged. Lucas sighed, annoyed. "See, sir, that's exactly what I mean. You _always_ treat me like a kid."

Nathan couldn't resist a snicker at this comment. "Oh? And am I supposed to let you shred your bandages and start bleeding again? I could just see Kristin's glare with that one. She'd read me the Riot Act for years!"

Lucas only continued to sulk, now gazing fixedly at Bridger's table. He was now wondering if medbay was, after all, such a bad place. At least there, he didn't get lectured every five seconds by Captain Nathan Hale Bridger, the only man on the face of the planet who could make a graduation speech seem short . . .

At last, Nathan sighed. He shook his head in frustration. It'd been so damnably long since he'd dealt with teenagers; hell, since he'd been away at sea most of the time, he could hardly even say he'd dealt with them at all.

And Nathan had never dealt with a teenager as fragile as Lucas. With Lucas, it was always as if he were treading on bone china, on glass about to shatter. He never knew what to say—and when he did say something, he was more than half-afraid his words would hurt Lucas. Words had the power to build or to destroy, to help or to hurt. He just wasn't certain which words, with Lucas, were which words. "Lucas, please, listen to me," he paused. "I'm not _trying_ to make you uncomfortable. I'm just . . . doing my best to make this work. We need to set a few guidelines. Otherwise, I'll annoy you, or you'll annoy me.

"Please, don't take me wrong on this. Don't see me as trying to hurt you or trying to get rid of you. I want neither. We just need to have a few rules in place. That's all."

After a moment, Lucas looked up at him. He studied the captain for several seconds, then asked softly, "What kind of rules do we need, sir?"

Exhaling sharply, Nathan relaxed. At least one large obstacle in the road had been removed. "Oh, stuff like what type of music will be played and how loud, what time of the night is considered bed time . . ."

Lucas nodded slowly. "What equipment not to touch . . ."

Nathan grinned at this. "Such as your scientific equipment, I take it?"

Lucas returned the smile, nodding. Things, at least, seemed to be smoothing out.

Lucas glanced at the clock, then suddenly started thinking of Ben's proposal. Right before Bridger walked into the room, Lucas's two best buddies, Ben Krieg and Miguel Ortiz, had stopped by to dangle a rather fascinating idea in front of Lucas's easily fascinated mind. They'd proposed a simple little—excursion. Yes, a simple little excursion to New Cape Quest, which the _seaQuest_ would reach in the next thirty-two hours. Krieg and Ortiz had promised him plenty of women, parties, and fun.

Women, parties, and fun had definite appeal, especially after a week in medbay.

He just had to figure a way to slip Bridger's ever-present gaze.

Especially now that they were roommates and the captain was insisting on rules.

Lucas played with the hem of his shirt, tugging at a loose string. With an inward grin, he realized this string had been getting longer and longer over the past few weeks. He was going to need some new clothes sooner or later; and, hey, the timing was perfect for the trip to New Cape Quest. Over the past few months, the captain had been hoarding Lucas's allowance for him, keeping it safe so he wouldn't go spend it on candy and gum (or women, parties, and fun, as in this case). If he could only get Bridger to advance him some of his allowance now for new clothing, he might just have a rolling stream of funds to have some _real_ fun with the guys. His clothes looked terrible; that much was obvious. Perhaps he could pull the proverbial wool over the captain's eyes. That way, he wouldn't have to keep begging Ben for money.

Of course, the only problem was that, since he was under eighteen and his small savings was held in a bank, he had to have Bridger's permission to withdraw his own money. That sucked. This all put him in a strange position, for he'd never had to ask for anything before. First, though, Lucas figured he should probably try to "butter up" the captain . . . and, then, ask his small, little favor.

Trying his best to look humble (something he wasn't at all used to), Lucas sighed. He cleared his throat. "I'll try to be a good roommate. But I'll warn you: I've never had to share a thing. I've been pretty much spoiled." He paused, thinking unconsciously, _Always excepting my parents, of course.Spoiling usually doesn't mean constant physical abuse._ Resolutely pushing the thought out of his mind, Lucas then plunged ahead to the juicy question: "Umm . . . captain, I gotta ask a favor." He shifted in his seat, looking anywhere but at the captain.

"Oh?" Bridger eyed him curiously, startled. Lucas hardly ever asked him for favors. "Okay . . . what's up?"

Now, for the decoy: "I was just looking at my clothes. They're thrashed. Can I get some cash to buy some clothes?"

Nathan stared at him, unprepared for this switch in conversation. Puzzled, he asked, "Yeah, sure, no problem . . . but what brought that on? I guess I'm still trying to figure out how your mind works, Lucas: and that question just threw me for a loop."

Lucas moaned. "Don't try to figure how my mind works, sir: you'll drive yourself mad. I'm still trying to figure that one out, and I've had fifteen years to ponder the question." He paused, stretching. He then gestured at several loose strings hanging from his shirt and a tear in his pants at the kneecap. "I'm starting to feel like an orphan. Ben and Miguel have been giving me a hard time about it."

He suddenly grinned, a crafty smile spreading across his face. "And, captain . . . well, we're going to port in a few days and I was hoping, sort of, to go out on leave . . . and I really can't get the babes to look at me like this, can I? It's that or Ben's threatened to make me wear some of his clothes." Lucas shuddered. "You can't get babes looking like a modern art canvas on legs."

Nathan laughed at this. So, at last the truth was out. He grinned. "The babes, eh? No, I don't imagine walking around in Krieg's clothes does much for babe-bait. Sure. We'll go shopping when we get there."

_We_? Immediately, Lucas frowned at this. Oops, this wasn't quite part of the plan. "You can't go shopping with me, sir. It just—no, it wouldn't work."

"Oh?" Nathan raised his eyebrows at the teen. He crossed his arms as he looked at Lucas. Something was beginning to smell fishy here.

"No, of course not. You're . . . the captain."

Lucas stopped, as if that explained everything; Nathan rolled his eyes. "Oh, I get it. It's not considered cool to hang out with the captain? Or any old fogy, for that matter?"

"Yes—no—err, I mean, sir, that it's just . . ." Confused, the boy stopped.

Nathan waited.

"Well, sir, it's just that shopping with you'd be like . . ." Lucas squirmed in his chair, blushing furiously. "It'd be like shopping with my parents or something."

Nathan stared at this, then shook his head. Teenagers! He'd forgotten just how incredibly warped their sense of reality truly was.

But then, he thought he also knew what was really going on here. If what he suspected was correct, this had nothing to do with wanting new clothes. And it had "Benjamin Krieg" written all over it.

"Let me guess, Lucas. You're going shopping with Krieg and Ortiz. And you're going to try to hit a bar or two with your fake ID."

Wide-eyed, Lucas stared at him. He tried to look completely innocent of such an enterprise, but secretly he wondered where Bridger got his information. Was the man psychic or something?

Bridger sighed. "All right, Lucas, you can go with those two sharks. However," he paused, grinning suddenly with fiendish delight. "I'm going, too. It's been ages since I went bar hopping at New Cape Quest."

Disbelieving his ears, Lucas blinked quickly. "You, sir?" He practically choked. "Bar hopping? With Ben and Miguel? With me?"

Enjoying the crushed, shocked expression on the boy's face, Nathan grinned. "Yeah, we've all had a bad week. You especially. We'll go out and have some fun, my boy. And besides, it shouldn't cost that much. I'll even flip your bill. Pepsi is still pretty cheap."

Lucas groaned, slumping into his chair. Pepsi! How was he supposed to catch the babes drinking _Pepsi_ with _the captain_ standing right beside him?!

Krieg and Ortiz were going to kill him for this one.

As Lucas practically slid under the table in disgruntlement, Nathan suddenly grinned. This was what he remembered about teenagers: always plotting, always scheming to go behind their elders' backs. Lucas was acting exactly as Nathan knew he should: as a teenager, a rebel.

It looked like, despite the pain of his father, despite the very real monsters hidden in the child's past, Lucas would be all right. Children, when given the right environment, when guided carefully, when loved freely and without expectation of return, could bounce back after the worst situations. Lucas was proof of that. Only days ago he'd tried to kill himself; only months ago his father had tried to crush his windpipe. But now, surrounded by people who loved him, surrounded by people who cared for him, Lucas was overcoming his past. Lucas was defeating the monsters that had haunted him for so long.

It was a long process, this monster killing. Nathan knew it. Lucas might never be completely free of the monsters. The nightmares might return periodically, and the fear might emerge when he least expected it. But Nathan felt that Lucas would be all right. If he were allowed to cry, to express his pain, he'd at last rule the monsters rather than be ruled by them. He'd move away from the monsters. Eventually, he'd be free of them.

**Finis**   
  



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